


Drink Me Down

by rougewinter



Series: Pierce The Flesh [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, F/F, Human!Mycroft, M/M, Vampire!Lestrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-20
Updated: 2013-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-29 22:43:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/692376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rougewinter/pseuds/rougewinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sheriff Lestrade investigates a case upon Queen Adler's personal request.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drink Me Down

**Author's Note:**

> As always, many thanks to [Alphera](alphera.livejournal.com) for working her miracles.

Mycroft Holmes was sitting in his office just as the sun set, shuffling through the last of his paperwork for the day, when he felt a sting bite into the meat of his left index finger. A drop of blood welled up at the cut and he quickly drew the digit into his mouth to stem the flow. 

“I could you help out with that.” 

Raising his gaze from the sheaf of papers on his desk, Mycroft’s eyes landed on the vampire that was practically lounging on the chair across from his. He hadn’t been alerted to the older being coming in and decided it was time to update the wards he kept around the room. He made a mental note to ask Anthea to procure the necessary ingredients later tonight. 

“I hear a little vampire blood does wonders for open wounds.” Lestrade said with a grin when Mycroft didn’t bother acknowledging his offer; choosing instead to refocus his attention to the work in his hands. 

“I’m well aware of what ingesting vampire blood can do to a human. You will, therefore, excuse me for not jumping at the chance to drink it down.

“Besides,” Mycroft continued dryly as he leafed through the stack, “it’s a paper cut. I have no doubt I’ll survive.” Throughout the exchange, Lestrade had deliberately made his way behind the desk, standing by Mycroft’s elbow to take a quick look at the documents the man was working on. It looked to be something about a research facility in Dartmoor.

“Don’t you have an appointment with Queen Irene tonight?” Mycroft said curtly and with some frustration when Lestrade hoisted himself up on the desk, disturbing the stack of papers there. If he was to finish within the hour, he couldn’t afford any distractions, specifically in the form of the silver-haired vampire who, for some reason, seemed to have forgotten how dangerous Mycroft could be when pushed to breaking point. “I suggest you go on your way. She doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” 

“I’m not expected until later on.” Lestrade said confidently as he spread his legs and pulled Mycroft comfortably between them. He was surprised that Mycroft let him, which told him that the man was more interested in him than on the documents at hand. “More than enough time to see if you’d be willing to drink something else of mine that isn’t blood.”

Mycroft’s lips thinned at the crass suggestion. “I still have work to do.” 

“Is that a no?” Lestrade responded teasingly. 

Mycroft responded with a raised brow before pulling Lestrade’s hips closer to the edge of his desk, deftly undoing the vampire’s trousers before swallowing him down whole. 

\-- 

Greg arrived at St. Bart’s Morgue with four minutes to spare. He sidled up to the familiar figure of his Queen, wrapped in a deep red coat and a luxurious white scarf. She was standing by the doors and looking surprisingly quite ill at ease around dead people for someone of their persuasion. 

“If you don’t mind me saying, my dear,” She said, smug once she caught sight of him, “You’re looking well and truly _fucked_. You must have Holmes wrapped around your little finger. Or is it you around his?” 

Greg gave her a look that suggested she shouldn’t be stupid, but he had enough self-preservation not to say it out loud. 

“It’s just a mutually beneficial agreement, you know that.” He said with a shrug, trying to play it off. 

“Why did you call me here? We’re not visiting a long lost lover of yours are we?” It was a low blow to remind Irene of the last time they went to the morgue together. They went to identify the body of Irene’s late husband, who had chosen to remain human, and was later met with his swift demise despite Adler’s attempts to save him. Greg and Irene may be on fairly good terms, but it didn’t mean that they were friends and it certainly didn’t give Irene any right to rub into his face the fact that in the grand scheme of things, Greg was just a pawn in their human-vampire game of chess. He knew exactly where he stood with Mycroft Holmes, and he didn’t need to be reminded that he was just a convenient fuck whenever the need arose. 

“He must like it.” Irene said in an off-handed manner, though the way she narrowed her eyes suggested that Greg’s comment was not appreciated. At Greg’s confused look, she continued, “That mouth of yours. Must be why he keeps you around.” Irene walked through the doors and left him in the empty halls, always needing to be the one with the parting shot. Greg sighed before following her in. 

“Molly, darling.” Irene all but purred when they saw the young lady in a white lab coat come out of a side door. She seemed to startle a bit but quickly regained her composure, setting down the black riding crop she had in her hands beside a body with bruises that seemed to have been freshly formed. Greg raised an eyebrow in curiosity. Perhaps the mild-mannered woman wasn’t as she appeared. It shouldn’t come as a surprise given that she was on familiar terms with Adler. 

“You must be here for the body.” Molly said with only a slight tremor in her voice. “I mean, of course, why else would you be here.” The soft way she laughed at her silliness was quite endearing. He could see why she attracted Adler’s attention. “It’s this one.” 

Before she could turn and pull out the corpse, Irene all but slinked up against Molly, pressing her slim thumb against the human’s bottom lip. Adler’s finely manicured red nail was a sharp contrast to the light pink gloss on Molly’s mouth. It was obvious the Queen enjoyed the young woman’s sharp intake of breath. 

“New tint?” Adler said as she stroked the edge of Molly’s lip teasingly. At Molly’s stuttered affirmative and deep blush, Irene complimented her on it before letting her go about her work.

She shot Greg a triumphant look, as if to say it should be that simple to have Mycroft practically gagging for it. Greg barely resisted rolling his eyes at her, choosing instead to focus on the corpse Molly pulled out. What he saw would have punched the air out of his lungs if he still breathed like a human did. 

“Third one this week.” Irene muttered softly, moving to allow Greg a closer look at the body. He knew the man; Sal Jones, his mind supplied. He worked at a pharmacy three blocks from Queen Adler’s mansion. He was a healthy middle-aged man last Greg saw of him, but on the slab in the morgue looked dried up like a prune, his bones practically pushing out from under his dark and aged skin. The eyes that looked up at them had shrunk down into their sockets and created a terrifying sight, even by vampire standards. 

He distantly heard Irene glamour Molly and looked up just in time to see the human roll up the sleeve of her lab coat and offer up her slim wrist to Irene. With a wicked grin, Irene bit into the tender human flesh, causing Molly to give a little gasp in response. Once Adler let the hand go, Molly carefully held it over Sal’s cracked and slightly parted lips, letting the blood flow freely into the man’s mouth. 

In an instant, Sal sprung to life, hands shooting out to grasp Molly’s firmly in place as he began sucking and drinking his fill. Greg watched on as the colour and substance returned to the once dead man, finally realising that Sal must have been turned before his appearance at the morgue. When Molly looked like she was about to faint from the amount of blood Sal had taken from her, Irene stepped in and carefully extracted the hand from Sal’s crushing and hungry grip. 

Irene gently offered her own wrist, which she’d already bitten, to Molly in order to heal and re-energize her. Once done, Irene instructed Molly to get cleaned up and forget the incident, ensure that no record of Sal Jones is kept, and to forget everything she had seen. Only after sending her off did Adler motion for Sal to fill them in. Greg had figured a few things out during the brief exchange but it was good to hear confirmation of his thoughts in Sal’s own words.

“I was bled out.” The blond vampire was practically seething as he retold his tale. “I had recently been turned but my maker was new to the whole business of being a vampire, so she didn’t think twice about casting me aside the moment she realised what a _burden_ I would be.”  
Both Greg and Irene frowned at the situation. Any vampire of worth would never cast aside a newly made vampire. It was like casting out a child, defenceless in the world. Sal didn’t seem to notice their pitying looks as he continued on, 

“I was on my way back from a feeding the other night when I was taken by surprise by this group of roughs. I could have easily taken them but they had silver chains wrapped around my neck, hands and feet that made me powerless to defend myself.” Greg had no doubt that if vampires had the ability to melt objects with their eyes, there would be a hole on the wall where Sal was glaring fiercely at. 

“For what seemed like days, I was kept in a dark room, tied down with silver links and made to bleed out until I was nothing more than the husk you saw before you. It was only through sheer luck that they became lax and I was able to crawl out of where they were keeping me. A police officer had been nearby when I escaped and he naturally came to see if he could be of aid. But since I had no pulse, he thought I was dead. Rightfully so.” The chuckle Sal tacked on at the end seemed hollow. “I had no strength to bring out my fangs, much less drink from the available life source. So near, yet so far. It was then that he called for the coroner to bring me here.

“I must thank you then, Queen Adler, for saving me.” Sal tipped his head lightly in thanks. 

“Wait,” Greg said with a frown as he turned to Irene, “You said this is the third one this week. But if this has been happening for as long as you suggest, how come I’m only hearing about it now?”

“Because Sal is the first and only one so far to have survived.” Irene regarded her nails as she answered Greg’s question, “Other vampires who were taken like Sal had been bled out and then staked.” Greg nodded, remembering the news about vampire remains being found in a number of places around the city. It did seem odd when he first heard, because there hadn’t been enough at the locations to suggest a full vampire had been there. It made sense then that they had been suffering from hunger and lack of blood before meeting the True Death. 

“They probably weren’t expecting I’d survive. Unfortunately for them, the copper found me and I was brought away before sunrise. I’d be more than happy to show you where I was kept. Those bastards deserve to experience how being bled out feels.” The snarl that Sal produced was thoroughly unlike the man’s once gentle and friendly human demeanour. 

“Get to the bottom of this Greg.” Irene said, turning to face him at last. “We currently have them at a disadvantage and it is imperative that we stop them before we lose another one.”

Greg refrained from voicing out his concerns, knowing that if your Queen gave an order, you followed. 

Everything seemed too neat. Such as how Sal was able to get away when others before him hadn’t. And why were the humans bleeding the vampires out? Was it to produce V? If so, then it would have made more sense to keep just one vampire, bleed him and then feed him to replenish the supply. Or perhaps it was something more sinister, like to torture the captured vampires before giving them the True Death. 

Regardless, the situation did warrant further investigation. Once Sal was clothed, they set off for the last place Sal remembered before passing out – a club called ‘The Garden’. 

Greg expected an ambush the moment they arrived at the back door of The Garden, ready to speed out of the way before anyone could bind him down with silver. Greg supposed he should have also been prepared for Sal to snap his neck just after they passed the threshold. 

\-- 

Greg woke up with a crick in his neck and a sharp painful throbbing on the inside of his left elbow. 

Casting a hazy look down at his arm, he could see a large needle inserted under his skin linked to a medical tube that descended into a blood bag. He grit his teeth as he realised he had been tied down to a rather uncomfortable chair with silver chains. Judging by the slowly building nausea and dizziness he was feeling, he hadn’t been out for too long. He needed to get out of this bind before he lost too much blood to be of any use. He attempted to break the chains holding him, but it only resulted in him hissing in immense pain and breaking out in a cold sweat from the exertion. He couldn’t cry out for help either, as a rag (now wet with his saliva) was tied around his head, serving as an effective gag. 

“You shouldn’t try and fight it.” A voice by the entrance of the room called his attention. “It’ll only delay the inevitable.” Greg raised his head, wincing at the effort it required, and saw Sal fucking Jones grinning at him like he’d won the lottery. 

“I bet you have a lot of questions.” The blond vampire said as casually as one would when talking about the weather. “I’ll try and answer them as best I can, _Sheriff_.” The way Sal said his official title was like a curse. 

“What I told you about being newly turned was true. I hadn’t wanted to be a vampire; in fact, I hate the whole lot of you. Filthy parasites that do nothing but feed off of innocent and unsuspecting humans. But I caught some bitch’s eye and it turned out she was a fucking _fanger_.” Greg barely suppressed a wince when Sal kicked a wooden crate in anger and sent pieces of it flying. 

“Turned me into one so we could be together, she said. Made me one of you _bastards_ so I had no choice but to learn to love _our kind_. She didn’t listen when I begged her not to turn me so I didn’t listen when I stabbed her through the heart.” The grin on Sal’s lips could only be described as maniacal. 

“It then became clear to me what I had to do.” He leaned over Greg, tilting the chair back so that it rested on only the hind legs, their faces so close that Greg could practically smell the madness rolling off the blond man. 

“I faced so many hopeless souls that came to the pharmacy asking for something, anything to relieve their pain or to save them. I watched my own mother die of cancer and I was helpless. Vampire blood has so many healing qualities. It only makes sense that such a resource be _farmed_ and given to those who need it. After all, humans deserve it after being treated as nothing more than warm blood bags for vampires' convenience. And if I’m paid for offering such a medical miracle, well, such is the nature of business.” He let Greg’s chair drop forward, causing the vampire to jostle in his seat and bite out a painful hiss. 

“It was only a matter of time before you would be sent after me so I decided to pre-empt it. It was a painful process I must say, bleeding out until only the faintest of blood was left. It was necessary, you understand, to catch you unawares and lure you back here. 

“Don’t worry though. After I drain and stake you, I’ll have enough to leave the country and establish my operations in another. I should thank you, really, Sheriff Lestrade. You will be my ticket out of here.” 

Greg barely heard Sal mutter, ‘Won’t be long now.’ before he was once again left alone in the room. He caught himself wondering if this was how he would end. Irene wouldn’t be expecting him back until just before sunrise, if at all, so she won’t be sending help soon. Not for the first time did Greg wish he could still call on Sally, his progeny, to help him; but he had severed ties with her long ago to let her be her own vampire, and he has never once regretted his decision. His mind finally landed on Mycroft Holmes and wondered if the man would feel anything when news of his ultimate demise reached him. 

_He'd probably be glad I was gone_ Greg’s thoughts supplied. They didn’t have the easiest of relationships. After all, one was a four hundred year old vampire and the other was a human well-versed in diplomacy and armed with the knowledge on how to properly use an assault rifle filled with wooden bullets. Greg supposed it was fun while it lasted. Perhaps his only regret was that he hadn’t been honest with Mycroft. 

There was physical attraction on both parties, that much was obvious; but Greg was always honest with himself if not to anyone else, and he knew that what he felt for Mycroft was far more than just a passing fancy. It had been some time since he felt such strong emotions towards anyone, much less a human, and he wished he could have at least told Mycroft that before he met his True Death. At least then he would have died knowing what Mycroft truly felt about him, positive or otherwise. 

Greg supposed he must be delirious from the blood loss because the blurry image of the man he was just thinking about suddenly manifested itself in front of him. 

“M--.” He tried to call out but he was too weak to do anything more than mumble, even without the rag between his lips.

“Shh, Gregory, calm yourself.” He must be more far gone than he thought, hearing Mycroft’s voice try to soothe him and feeling warm fingers gently pry off the silver that had seared into his flesh. Greg had never believed in God but he supposed only a higher being could send him such a blessing right before he met his end. It was his only chance, Greg supposed, to be honest with the infuriating man, even if he did turn out to be a figment of his imagination. 

“Mycr-.” Greg started once the cloth gagging him was removed but he was interrupted by a fit of coughs that brought blood to his lips. 

\--

When Mycroft entered the back room of the club, he was quickly spurred into action upon seeing the vampire tied to the chair and slowly being pumped dry. He wasted no time in releasing the older man from his bindings, but at the sight of Lestrade coughing blood, he doubled his efforts.

The needle on Lestrade’s arm was swiftly extracted, hitting the floor with a clink before Mycroft rolled up his sleeves and offered his wrist to the vampire. 

“Drink.” He commanded, holding the other man’s head steady as he brought the arm up to the vampire’s lips. He knew the vampire had lost too much blood and needed to feed in order to regain his strength. But the silver-haired man tried futilely to twist away, instead attempting to speak when he barely had the energy to stay conscious. 

“My-Mycroft. Stop. I. I need to tell you something.” Mycroft refused to acknowledge how his heart clenched at the pleading tone in Lestrade’s voice. 

“You can tell me later when we both get out of here alive, but for God’s sake drink!” He all but shoved his wrist into Lestrade’s mouth. He breathed a sigh of relief when he felt sharp fangs pierce through his flesh but he knew it was still too early to consider themselves safe from danger. He had some of his people out front but there was still no telling what awaited them if they didn’t get out of here soon. Lestrade would be far from his usual self, his vampire abilities nullified by the tainted blood in Mycroft’s veins, but it should at least be enough to help Lestrade regain some energy and get them both to safety. 

He let Gregory feed for a few more moments, watching as the colour started to return to the vampire. A gentle tap to the vampire’s cheek was all it took to have him release Mycroft’s wrist. He watched as Gregory lapped the wounds slowly, licking away the last of the blood before the cuts closed under the vampire’s attention. 

Mycroft briefly indulged himself in running his hands through Gregory’s hair, before helping the other man stand. It was then that a blond vampire, who Mycroft knew to be Sal Jones, threw open the door and practically lunged at them. 

Mycroft pushed Gregory away from harm, but was not quick enough to roll out of the way himself when Sal’s fangs pierced straight into his shoulder. Mycroft tried to scramble for leverage but Sal had him pinned firmly against the wall and was proceeding to tear at his flesh.

He would have completely torn Mycroft’s shoulder off except that Gregory had gotten hold of a long pointed piece of wood from a pile at the corner of the room and promptly staked the blond vampire. Sal exploded like a bubble that had been popped, red bits flinging outwards and messily coating both men and the walls of the room.

\-- 

“Huh.” Greg said, dropping the makeshift stake onto the ground. “That was more satisfying that I thought.”

“You should have seen it from my end.” Mycroft responded with a small smile. “His look of surprise was definitely one for the bo-hnng.” 

Greg eased Mycroft to the ground, trying not to mind the squelching sound the remains of the late Sal Jones made. The vampire took one look at Mycroft’s wounds and knew what had to be done. 

Taking his own wrist to his mouth, he bit down hard enough to make his blood flow free before offering it up to the man. When Mycroft refused, Greg moved him such that he was now cradling the man’s head softly against his shoulder, knowing the man was weak now from his wound to protest. 

“Stop being so stubborn.” Greg said as he all but forced his wrist between Mycroft’s lips. “I know that you find me repulsive but you need to drink dammit or you’re going to lose too much blood to save!”

He made sure to meet the man’s hard blue-grey gaze with his own until Mycroft relented, reaching out to bring Greg’s arm to his mouth. Mycroft leaned back against Lestrade’s chest, eyes closed as he suckled softly at the warm liquid, letting it work its mystical properties on him. Greg let Mycroft drink his fill, content in rubbing small soothing circles over Mycroft’s hips where he held the man, and pressing his nose behind the hunter’s ear to nuzzle the spot there. Even though they were both covered in what remained of the late Sal Jones, Greg found it difficult to be disgusted at their state. After all, they both made it out alive and Greg now had another chance to tell Mycroft how he truly felt. 

Though, he supposes, it can wait for another day. 

-end-


End file.
